


I Might Be Hoping For This

by Empirical_Equipoise



Series: The Baking Bad Verse [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuddling, Dom/sub, F/M, I think this is platonic but I could be wrong, Jack Needs a Hug, Lardo is awesome, Light BDSM, Safe Sane and Consensual, Submission as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empirical_Equipoise/pseuds/Empirical_Equipoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Larissa Duan thinks about Jack Zimmerman is: “Fuck. That guy needs a lot of hugs.” </p><p>In which Lardo takes care of her hockey team. Some need more attention than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Might Be Hoping For This

When Larissa first agreed to be the manager for the hockey team, long before she became Lardo, she had no idea how quickly the boys would become family to her. During the first few weeks, which were insane, she had established her authority as manager and started to figure out the individual players and what they needed. Larissa took her job seriously, and there was more to managing a hockey team than booking ice time and hotel rooms.

Ransom and Holster work largely as a single, co-dependent biome. They take care of each other as well as the team, and don’t require much of her attention. Except when they get into one of their epic but rare spats, that is. Three weeks into the semester, Lardo had ended up acting as their bro-marriage counselor for a week.

(“I expect to see a 30 slide PowerPoint on proper conflict resolution strategies by Sunday. Got it? Are you listening to me, Holster?” Holster ducks his head, “Yes, Lardo.”)

The whole team took turns treating her to dinner for about two weeks in gratitude though, which was pretty rad.

Shitty- well. Shitty was her insta-bro, and is one of the best friends she’s ever had. Life is simply more vibrant with Shitty around. She spends an inordinate amount of time with him, because of this fact. It's a good deal.

Johnson is strange, but awesome. Very low maintenance, though he would occasionally drift by with some cryptic advice that would always make creepy amounts of sense two weeks later. He inspired an awesome comic-themed photo project she did near the end of her frog year, actually. She had to talk him out of an existential crisis or two, but that wasn't too difficult.

("Bro. Even if we are all characters in a comic arc, our reality is still something we can interact with. So why does it matter?"

"Wow, Lardo. I didn't realize you were the wise one in this story line. That's sw'awesome. And hey, thanks.")

 

And then there was Jack.

The first thought Lardo had about Jack Zimmerman was: “Fuck. That guy needs a lot of hugs.”

(She was absolutely right).

In spite of that initial knowledge, Lardo never really knew how to reach out to Jack. He was always kind and friendly, but very distant. Shitty was the only person who managed to get close to him at all, but that wasn't so surprising, all things considered. It wasn’t until late April of her first year that they really collided. Yeah- collided is an accurate word. For a Saturday night, the Haus was surprisingly silent, Rans and Holster finally having quieted down. Lardo and Shitty had been chilling out in the reading room, drinking awful beer and discussing hipster culture.

(Lardo told him that he was actually a meta-hipster. Shitty, almost fell off the roof laughing and shouting “FUCK YEAH I AM!”)

Around two in the morning, Lardo decided to head out. As she slipped into the hallway from Shitty’s room she ran smack into Jack fucking Zimmerman.

“Oh shit-sorry!” Lardo exclaimed, as Jack jerked away from her in surprise. Jack didn’t respond for a moment and she looked up at him, puzzled.

He looked like hell.

Dark circles hung below his eyes, and his skin was ashen, even in the dimly lit hallway. His eyes were wide and a little bloodshot, like he’d been crying. He was wearing a ragged navy blue tee-shirt and black sweat pants that sagged at his hips. He smelled of laundry detergent and sweat. But mostly it was the dull, utterly hopeless look on his face that made her breath catch.

"Sorry, Lardo." he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

“Dude.” She said, and wrapped him in her arms. He stiffened for a moment like he was going to pull away, but then he took a deep, shaking breath and sagged against her. Lardo braced herself and managed to hold him up for a long moment before she finally squeaked “…dude!” and gently pushed him upright.

In typical Jack fashion (for all his stoicism, he could really be a drama queen) he shot away from her like a spooked horse. Before he could gallop down the stairs, Lardo impulsively grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his own room.

Lardo had never been in Jack’s room before, and she looked around curiously. His bedside lamp was on, casting a warm glow through the room. The room was almost compulsively tidy, everything neatly arranged and put away. The bed was wrecked though, sheets and blankets twisted and tangled together, one pillow looking to have been thrown on the floor where it lay near the laundry hamper.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Lardo turned to look at Jack from where she stood in the center of the room. Jack was still hovering awkwardly in his own doorway, looking at once miserable and resigned. He flicked his eyes at her, then away. She tilted her head toward the mangled bed and raised an eyebrow. Jack flushed slightly and shrugged, spreading his large hands, helplessly. Lardo nodded slowly.

“How long?” she asked softly.

Jack, to his credit, didn’t try to deflect, or pretend to misunderstand.After a moment he cleared his throat. “Uh- two weeks?” her eyebrows shoot up and he hastily amends, “I nap, and I sleep sometimes, but-” Lardo waits, giving him her attention as gently as she can. “…I have nightmares?” Jack finishes, his voice thin and strained. Lardo just nods again, carefully keeping her expression neutral and open. Sensing that he might tell her more, she doesn’t say anything. Jack looks at her anxiously and twists his hands together as the moment spins out between them. He looks away toward the window. Lardo breathes evenly, waiting. Jack coughs and they both jump slightly. “Eh…” Jack trails off, seeming to collect himself. “I get trapped,” he taps his temple impatiently “-in my head. I can’t turn off.”

“Have you tried meditation?” Lardo blurts out, surprising herself.

Jack glowers, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ugh, yeah. I just- it makes it worse, when I try. It’s like, opening the door for my mind to attack.” for a moment he looks vaguely affronted at his own honesty, but his shoulders slump and Lardo can read weariness and defeat in the lines of his powerful frame.

She has an abrupt mental image of him drawn in stark charcoal on cold, empty blue, a vast space around him and a chilling sense of being alone. Sometimes her creative double vision sucks ass. She shakes her head slightly to clear it and a completely different image comes to her then, of one of her high school boyfriends, Sam, on his knees and blissfully zoned out with her hand tangled in his hair. She must have changed her expression, because Jack is looking at her again, his eyes questioning. Lardo swallows, looks at Jack again, and decides to take a chance.

“Jack… I have an idea, but we don’t have to try it if you don’t want to, okay? But hear me out for a second.” She holds his eyes and keeps her hands relaxed at her sides even though she wants to fidget. Jack looks at her for a long few moments before he nods. “How much do you know about BDSM?” she asks quickly, before she loses her nerve.

Jack looks visibly startled. “Sorry-what?”

“Hear me out,” she repeats. “Specifically, I’m talking about domination and submission. The voluntary giving up of control.” Jack’s skin is flushed now, which is at least an improvement over the gray, Lardo thinks absently.

“Just- just what I’ve heard Shitty talk about, I guess.” Jack replies, his voice low and furtive. (In his mind, he has a phantom sensation of Kenny’s hands hot around his wrists, pinning them to the wall after a game, but he dismisses it sharply).

“Which is-?” Lardo prompts, making him snap to attention. “Uh, that it has to be safe, sane, and consensual.” Jack recites, slightly bemused at his own memory. “And something about having a safe word?”

“Yes, very good.” Lardo affirms. “Anything else?”

Jack feels his heartbeat pick up at her offhanded praise, and he shakes his head in a negative, not trusting his voice.

“Okay.” Lardo says, flushing slightly. “I had a partner in high school who wanted me to dominate him. He said it took him out of his head and helped him to relax. He liked receiving orders, being tied up, and some pain. Everyone has different tastes, of course.” She made eye contact with Jack again, her gaze having wandered as she spoke of Sam. His eyes were sharp and focused. Interested.

“This isn’t necessarily a sexual thing, either.” She continued. “It can just be… something to help you relax. Do you want to try something? We can stop at any time, and I won’t do anything without your consent.”

Jack’s blue eyes are wide and his jaw is clenched as he looks at her with something resembling hope.

“. . . Please.” He whispers.

“Your safe word is hockey.”

Jack huffs a laugh. “Okay.”

“I’m going to keep it simple, and I’m not going to hurt you.” Jack’s face falls slightly. Lardo smirks at him, pleased with the new information. “Not this time, at least- maybe another time. After we’ve had a chance to talk it over. If you have a question or want to slow down, raise your hand. If you want to stop, use your safe word.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Come here.”

Jack walks up to her immediately, his eyes wide and earnest.She has to tilt her head back to look up at him. She motions for him to follow her as she takes the few remaining steps to be able to sit on the edge of his bed. Jack hovers, looking confused until she tosses his remaining pillow on the floor to her right. “Kneel.” She says, pointing. Jack shivers and a flush creeps up his neck as he sinks to his knees, his attention entirely focused on her. It’s a heady sensation. “Your job is to stay right here until I tell you that you can move. Put your hands behind your back. You can raise one if you need to tell me something. Good. You are allowed to count your breaths silently. If you need to think about something you may think about history but nothing else. If your knees start to hurt, you will tell me. Understood?”

Jack lets out his breath in a shuddering sigh. “Yes.”

“Good.” Lardo says, and Jack looks so relieved that she reaches out and slides her fingers through his sweat damp hair. “You’re doing great. Is this okay, Jack?”

He leans into her touch like a cat and nods vigorously. They stay like that for a long, quiet, fifteen minutes, Jack’s breathing becoming deep and even as Lardo continues to stroke his hair. Finally, Jack pulls his head up a bit to sleepily whisper that his knees are getting tired. Lardo nods and motions for him to get up. She makes him stand in parade rest with his hands behind his back as she re-makes his bed for him with fresh sheets.

He grumbles at her about the bed, so she swats his (admittedly beautiful) ass firmly and tells him that the bed is not his to make right now, unless he has a safe word for her. After a moment the shocked disbelief left his face and he actually giggles.

(She pretends that it isn’t the most adorable thing she’s ever heard, but it takes effort.)

“Get in.” She says when the bed has been made. Jack obediently climbs in and allows her to tuck him in. She stands and his hand flies out to grab her wrist before he jerks it back, looking mortified. Lardo smiles at him crookedly. “I’d be a shit dom if I left you alone right after a scene. I’m just locking the doors so Shitty doesn’t jump on us in the morning, okay?” Jack nods, embarrassed. Lardo locks the main door and the door to the bathroom Jack shares with Shitty and walks back to the bed. She takes her bra off under her shirt and drops her jeans on the floor. Jack politely averts his eyes and she smiles fondly at him. He moves over so there is room for her in his bed and she slides in, twisting to turn off the bedside lamp. She turns on her side to face him. His eyelids are heavy with exhaustion and he struggles to look at her.

“Jack. Hey.” She touches his face gently. “Thank you for trusting me with this. With you. You did so well. We can talk more tomorrow, but sleep now, okay?”

Jack nods solemnly and whispers “Merci, Lards.” She rolls over and snuggles back into his chest so they can both breathe easily, and he tentatively rests a hand on her waist. She takes it and pulls his arm snug around her. They tumble into sleep as the digital clock on the bedside table changes to display 3:00 in a red glow.

 

 

(Across the hall, Johnson jerks awake and mutters "I did not see _that_ plot twist coming. Whoa." before dropping off to sleep again.)

 

 

Neither of them wakes until the afternoon sun is spilling across the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's "From Eden". 
> 
> I've had this strange platonic-ish D/s relationship between Lardo and Jack in my head for ages. This is probably a very early prologue for a series I have been working on, but it's a nice stand-alone. It might get a sequel of it's own at some point, but I make no promises.
> 
> This fandom is incredible and I have been diligently reading pretty much every single thing posted here. Thank you all for sharing your awesome work. Thanks Ngozi for hijacking my brain for the past several months.


End file.
